


Anomalies

by DyingSucculents



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, May the Fourth!, i tried to write humor but it came out like a social commentary oh my GOD, the clone wars broke me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyingSucculents/pseuds/DyingSucculents
Summary: A reporter catches Fives on a bad day. It shows up on the evening news.
Relationships: CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555 & CT-7567 | Rex
Comments: 12
Kudos: 194





	Anomalies

**Author's Note:**

> heLLO! I am extremely tired. I wrote this when I was still extremely tired. I didn't edit it, but I love you. I love the Clone Wars. The clones deserved better. That is all.

There was no discernable difference between The Triple Zero News Broadcast and one of those Force-awful holoshows ─ _Three Moons of Love,_ or the _Flimsi Files,_ or _Zeltron World,_ or whatever the civvies thought was worth raving over that month. In the end, they were all the same to Torrent Company: cheap entertainment.

First, it had been the few holodocs that could be found on the three GAR-accessible channels. _Monsters of the Nabooian Deep_ had lasted Torrent from Karthis to Geonosis II; then it had been whatever reruns of _Ordo Plutonia’s Moons Explored_ that anyone could get a hold of. But those played out fairly quickly, and that was that. All that was left to watch, then, was the news.

And that was the tradition. 

At least one evening of shore leave on Coruscant was dedicated to a company viewing of whatever TZNB thought qualified as news that evening ─ usually a butchered version of any recent GAR deployments. The 332nd stomping a Sep-infested planet. The 18th on some nowhere-world doing Force-knew-what. Another 501st victory, and what that evening’s anchor thought it meant for the Republic. The overall “war progression.” It was a laugh for everyone, even if it wasn’t particularly useful; Torrent enjoyed it. 

It was a mystery, then, when ARC-trooper Fives didn’t want to participate in the first evening back from Cuurik. He had been out that afternoon, seemingly fed up after the rough deployment and badly in need of some alone time. No one had bothered to ask where he was going. All that mattered was that the ARC _should_ have cooled off by then, and the viewing would have helped with that even if he hadn’t. Why he continued to feign disinterest seemed out of character.

But that was before the ARC himself showed up on the big screen. Then it all made sense.

Rex spotted the Rishi eel stencil first, bobbing through the crowd just as the reporter on screen turned to look for her next interview victim on the topic of the War. It was _very_ obvious what was about to happen, and it was just as inevitable. Jesse was the next to catch on as the captain put a gloved hand to his forehead. An arm caught Fives around the waist as he made a last-ditch effort to leave the common room. Recognition spread like wildfire from there. 

Torrent could see the nuances of the ARC’s movement as he strode across the Galactic City plaza, and they were _not_ hard to read. To say on-screen Fives had been miffed would have been criminal. The ARC’s steps were broad, his shoulders squared tensely, his helmet lowered. _Lowered._ Aware enough so as not to trample an unsuspecting civvie, but not enough to stay out of the radius of the reporter. So when the violet-tinged arm struck out to catch Fives at his shoulderbell, the crowd of Torrent erupted into raucous laughter.

“May I have a moment of your time?” The pitchy voice of the reporter cut through the din of the gathered men. Thirty pairs of eyes locked on the screen. The thirty-first looked pleadingly from Jesse, to the exit, and then back.

For a moment, it seemed as if Fives would simply shrug the reporter off and continue on his way, but, yet again, amused shock rippled through the men as the on-screen-ARC relaxed, almost eerily. The irritation was still palpable, but in a subtler way. _That_ , if anything, was more dangerous. At the front of the room, Rex turned to the visibly concerned ARC, an eyebrow raised. 

“Fives?” Prompted the captain.

“Yes,” on-screen-Fives replied to the reporter, his voice rough through his helmet filters. The woman looked pleased. Fives, once again straining against Jesse, blanched.

“Are you a clone?” Came the first question. The room fell silent in anticipation, before one of the men snorted, lowered the pitch of his voice, and answered with a confident “Nope.” Laughter filled the room, drowning out the “Yes, ma’am” that followed from the screen.

“Alright.” The reporter turned back to the camera, dragging Fives around ─ now by the armor of his bicep ─ to face the screen. “Good evening, Triple Zero. This is Coranthe Porosa, here with the Triple Zero News Broadcast’s afternoon interview segment. Today’s guest is─.” There was a weighted pause, as if Porosa was deciding what to label the ARC. Informed reporters usually asked for a designation. Sensible ones asked for a name. Otherwise, those lacking in both revealed themselves fairly quickly.

“A clone,” Porosa finished, and the precedent was set. Half the room seemed to sit back, disinterested, waiting for Fives to answer a few questions politely and move on. Caution had to be exercised with reporters like Porosa ─ anything could be taken out of context for the sake of an interesting story, so the less one spoke, the better. Fives, if anything, was an advocate for accuracy; a few corrections and a bold statement or two on his behalf were practically expected ─ at least, something to challenge the inaccuracies fed to the public.

It was _Fives,_ after all.

“Clone,” Porosa began, turning to the uncharacteristically still ARC. Someone near the back wall of the common room feigned a loud yawn. “I see from your colors that you are not part of the Guard. Am I correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In that case, what─,” a short hesitation, “ _─group_ do you belong to?”

On screen, Fives tapped the Rishi eel stencil on his helmet without missing a beat, before running his right hand down the blue markings on his opposing arm. “These colors mean I belong to the 212th, ma’am. A special shade ─ _212th blue,_ as the boys like to call it.”

 _“Two-twelfth b─,”_ Hardcase, standing cross-armed near the front of the room, started, before Kix drove an elbow into his side. A wry smirk was plastered across his face. A few feet behind him, Fives stared blankly at the floor, evidently having given up the thought of freeing himself from Jesse’s grip.

“Special, huh? You _choose_ your colors, then?” Porosa asked, sounding astonished at the implication of free will.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Fives’ voice crackled across in correction. Throughout the room, a few men shrugged nonchalantly. He wasn’t wrong, although a follow-up was expected, especially from the ARC. Something along the lines of _rookies are assigned to battalions with colors already set;_ or maybe, _colors are predetermined by battalion, but designs are chosen by the men. We enjoy─_

“Clones can’t see in color,” said Fives.

A mixture of shock and surprised laughter stretched across the room. At Fives’ side, Jesse stood absolutely still, jaw locked shut but chest trembling slightly, as if he were holding himself back from laughing aloud. Porosa, however, was eating it up. 

“Yeah,” Fives said as the reporter pushed the mic in closer, “we can only see in black and white.”

“Just black and white?”

“Hues of gray for depth, ma’am. That’s all.”

“Then how do you tell each other apart? Between clone groups, I mean.” Porosa paused for a moment, thinking. “As in, if you’re working with a clone group with a color that’s a medium-purple color, but yours in a medium-blue, how do you know who’s on your team?”

“Thank you for the hypothetical, ma’am,” Fives said, syrupy-sweet. “The truth is, we can’t really tell visually. That’s why we have sound cues.”

 _“Sound_ cues?”

“Exactly. All clones are born with the ability to make a sort of high-pitched warble, only able to be heard by other clones. We perceive it at a special frequency. Like Keeridaks. Each battalion has a special series of─”

“Can you make the sound right now?” Porosa prompted, cutting Fives off. The ARC nodded without any semblance of hesitation, and the interview halted, the recording refocusing so closely on Fives’ helmet that Porosa could be seen in his visor. Jesse hushed the already-muted crowd of Torrent, then doubled over again in the fit of silent laughter that had consumed him a minute earlier.

“Quiet _down,_ Jesse,” someone called as the seconds passed, eventless and soundless, on the screen. “You're laughing too loud over my _kriffing_ special frequency.”

“It’s giving me a headache,” another agreed, and Jesse stumbled backward in hysterics, forcing Fives to haul him up again by his forearm.

“I couldn’t hear it. What did you say?” Porosa's voice asked over the chaos.

A chorus of shouts from Torrent only fed into the growing laughter of the gathered men.

 _“I said you’re a_ karking _idiot!”_

_“Can I get your commlink code?”_

_“All-forces bulletin. Dooku’s in the area.”_

_“Whadd’ya think of Commander Fox?”_

_“My skidplate’s too tight.”_

“Glory to the Republic,” on-screen Fives replied stoically. Porosa nodded her sentiment.

“I see. And in your fight for the Republic, where were you last?”

“Classified,” Rex prompted, his faux-composure matching Fives’ own on screen. The crowd erupted into laughter again as Fives immediately echoed the captain to Porosa.

“Classified. But I can tell you that we were slogging through that planet for weeks. Rain, swamps, and all that.”

“I assume that doesn’t affect you clones,” Porosa said, pensively.

“Yes, ma’am. You’re correct. Ab-so- _lute-_ ly. Our skin is waterproof.” 

The room was in disarray now, some leaning helplessly against the wall and others on the ground. Fives himself looked exasperated; although he was not one ─ by any means ─ to avoid a good joke, it was common knowledge that many civvies watched Triple Zero News. This would, undoubtedly, skew the public’s view of the Republic’s finest in a particularly odd direction.

And on it went.

Nerf-loaf had a distinct type of protein in it that powered clones more than any other food. There was a sixth sense, but clones couldn’t explain it in words. Anything that looked like a tattoo was actually a birthmark ─ some bacta tank anomaly that couldn’t be explained, even if that tattoo was in Aurebesh.

The worst thing about it ─ or, what seemed to be the _best_ thing, based on the laughter each answer got ─ was the absolute composure and believability each response was given with. Yet, it was that same self-possession that made it clear to the gathered men that Fives was beyond irritated; otherwise, the borderline anti-clone-individualist sentiment wouldn’t have been said. Among brothers, the biting sarcasm was obvious. Fives was fed up, and he gave Porosa what she wanted to hear until she had no time left to listen.

And Porosa, given the gleam in her eyes, was elated.

“If victories like this continue,” the reporter concluded, “how do you feel about the end of the war?” From the way she leaned forward in anticipation, it was obviously her finish-all question; perhaps her chance at the Chancellor’s Journalism Award ─ asking a clone about the supposed end of their use. Bold. _Daring_. On the screen, Fives just shrugged.

“Dunno, ma’am. Rumor has it that they’re just gonna flip our switches off until the next war rolls around.”

 _“Switch?”_ Porosa echoed, wide-eyed. 

“Where’s your switch?” Someone asked the screen. Again, Torrent hummed with laughter.

“Yes, ma’am. It doesn’t matter, though. Our duty is to the Republic. And besides, we don’t feel any physical pain.”

Porosa blinked. Blinked again. Then, with a curt nod, she turned back to the camera, all professionalism and poise. In the background, Fives stood still for a moment before disappearing off to the side of the screen. “That’s all for this evening, Triple Zero. Later tonight, join us as we discuss these shocking revelations. Do clones see in color? Are there further uses for them in the future, knowing their lack of pain reception? This has been─”

The camera jerked suddenly, the focus dipping in and out for a second before steadying back on Porosa, who hadn’t seemed to notice. Someone had bumped the cameraman, judging from the muffled apology. A common, pedestrian mistake. It wasn’t until Fives’ voice sounded distantly that Porosa jerked her head up, and the camera swiveled around.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

The common room was silent as Porosa’s voice cut through, one final time. “ _Hurt?_ I thought he said─”

But the ARC had vanished into the milling crowd. 

The damage had been done; that was, yet again, inevitable. Torrent spent the rest of the evening watching anchormen pick apart Fives’ answers, detail by detail, until all the men had filtered out and into the barracks. It was amusing, but as always, there were more pressing things to worry about.

It didn’t matter much what inaccuracies the news spewed; Torrent watched to amuse themselves with the inaccuracies in the first place. So it didn’t matter that the banner scrolling beneath the news broadcasts the next morning was _Clones and Satire? Confronting Our Misconceptions of the Republic’s Best._ It didn’t matter if Fives’ words had hurt or helped a cause. It didn’t matter, because there was a war to fight.

If it truly mattered, there would be time to discuss it all after.


End file.
